The critique group I'm in is discussing jointly writing Fifty Shades of Beige, a story full of bland, missionary-position-only sex.

Fifty Shames of Earl Grey, a parody by Andrew Shaffer, has been acquired by Da Capo Books for release in spring 2012. (Gotta get these things out quickly before the fever dies, you know.)

I know we've got brilliantly imaginative minds reading this blog. So--contest time! Post in Comments your parody of Fifty Shades of Grey. A title and a brief (a sentence or three) description. Haven't read Fifty Shades? Excerpts are available at the various ebook etailer sites, discussions are everywhere on line, enough to give you the idea.

Give us your best or snarkiest, we'll love it and give an EC webstore gift certificate to the winner.

13 comments:

The wheat tickles my bare knees as I watch him nervously. Private property the sign read. Ignoring it might have been a mistake as he spurs his horse my way. He is scowling and his eyes are intense. He gracefully dismounts the horse his grey eyes never leave mine.

"You don't know what happens to trespassers do you?" He stalks me skimming his fingertips along the tops of the grain as he nears. I bite my lower lip. I could eat it right off my face he is so buckin' bronco hot.

"What's your name darlin'?" He tips his hat, tilts his head and studies my now bloody lip. His heated gaze makes me want to bow before him. I want to thoroughly lick the dust from his scuffed up leather cowboy boots. He plucks a stalk of wheat and begins to tap it repeatedly against his jean clad thigh.

"Ana" I whisper. I eye the long willowy stalk in his hand and wonder what he plans to do with it.I am suddenly starving for a big slice of wheat bread with a side of homegrown cowboy.

Belladonna Pigeon never expected her first erotic novel to be a success, but lately she's topping every bestseller list and her name is on the laving tip of everyone's tongue. A major studio has purchased the film rights and handed the project to cutting-edge director Greyson Xian -- whose smoldering good looks are as heart-stopping and pants-moistening as the scenes in Belladonna's book.

Only one problem: Greyson doesn't believe her sex scenes as written are plausible. Belladonna will have to prove to him, paragraph by paragraph, that each position is both physically possible and impossibly pleasurable. But can a shockingly innocent girl play the naughtiest of sex games with an aggressively dominant man and NOT lose her heart? Eh, probably not.

I flapped my giant eyelashes all aquiver in my unknown and scary nether regions. "Why whatever do you mean, my beloved? And why are you taking your pants off? Enter what? I thought we were already here. You know, through the door and all?"

"No," his voice graveled around in my brain, and I laughed at the thing that sprung forth from his zipper. "What's THAT?"

He grinned and I felt an odd loosening in my funny lady parts. He stared and suddenly I wanted to turn around, bend over the chair, show him my v-jay jay. But I was a-scared.

"And now, I will take you from behind Lulu belle."

"Take me where? Can we go shopping? And the name's Suzie, remember?"

"Whatever."

He fumbled about, gave me a whack on the hiney. I blew on my still wet fingernails. "Seriously Daddy,"

Mr. Grey was the hottest professor Ana had ever laid eyes on, with that unruly hair and his knack for coaxing exactly the answers he needed from her.

But why, oh why, did he insist on spanking her with the ruler over his desk when she failed his tests? How she wished Mr. Grey was a normal, regular professor, who didn't seem to delight in corporeal punishment.

When a fluke traffic accident leaves Olivia trapped between life and death, she discovers she has to earn her way back into her meager life by doing whatever she must to gain the favor of 50 angels. What's a girl to do with so many men...er angels..and so little time?

Clarisse discovers that every time she makes love with her boyfriend, her dark blonde hair gets lighter. Pretty soon, her glorious mane will be whiter than her great-grandmother’s and she fears people will think she’s twice Chauncey’s age. Enter Woodrow, hairdresser and colorist extraordinaire, who offers her an antidote: spend a month in his bed and he’ll guarantee her a hair color she can be proud of. Should she or shouldn’t she?

Don’t worry Hanna, I told you that we will get to Joseph’s show on time” As Hanna follows Tristan out of the 1-room shack she can’t help but feel the terrible heartburn. Swallowing back the acid, she can’t help but cringe at the idea that once again Tristan made her eat all that spicy food. She knows she will pay for that later, but then again, he will have to pay too if the sleep under the same covers.

As they make their way to the parking lot Hanna looks around “Tristan, where is this Foxtrot that we are taking?”

“Right over here” as Tristan approaches a little hot pink moped. “She is the best in her class. They sure don’t make them like this anymore.” Tristan helps her with the buttermilk yellow helmet (with the colorful propeller on the top) and she hops on behind him. Hanna can’t help but become excited feeling the fiberglass between her legs. The little putter she feels as he starts it up makes her quiver.

The ride is long, and she is nearly frozen by the time they reach Joseph’s show. As they wander through the gallery she can’t help but feel everyone’s eyes on her. As they enter the final room, she knows why. On the wall, under a bright light is the picture that Joseph shot of her when she wasn’t expecting it. She remembers that day so vividly. They were walking about so he could find items of inspiration for his photography. She felt something tickle the inside of her nose and while she thought she was being discrete, she hid herself to pick her nose. Obviously, Joseph saw her and took the photo. “He is so going to pay for this”

Arlette hurried up the stairs, to find the lights out, her husband curled up in the fetal sleeping position, the only thing dominant about him being his snores.

She sighed wistfully at her rounded form in the dirty bathroom mirror after tip-toeing around him. If only she hadn't spent so much time reading mommy blogs online, she could be having lazy, you're-in-bed-and-I'm-in-bed sex right now.

She'd missed the sexy-time cutoff every day this week, and her capacious hole longed for the fumbling entrance of her half-erect husband in the same position they'd been using since 2005.

Oh well, she thought. Better this way anyway. I haven't shaved in three days, and his hand might have accidentally touched my naked flesh.

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